Such Deliberate Disguises
by Wyndi
Summary: A look into the minds of four very frustrated men.


Content: Mature subject matter, m/m slash, language, angst.  
  
Character/s: Shane McMahon, Chris Jericho, Hunter, Steve Austin  
  
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, federation, promotion, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. Title & verses come from by "The Hollow Men" by T.S. Eliot. Lyrics, quotations, etc. used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.  
  
* * *  
  
I. Shane  
  
// Shape without form, shade without colour \\  
  
I die a small death whenever he enters the room. I am blinded by his beauty, his feline grace, his contagious smile. I've lain awake in bed many a night just fantasizing about being with him. Touching him. Tasting him. Loving him. As my hand slips beneath the sheets and I begin to stroke myself, my mind is filled with the most wonderful images of the two of us tangled in the sheets, limbs entwined, his golden hair falling down around me like a gossamer curtain.  
  
He knows none of this, of course. Our relationship thus far has been strictly business. I honestly don't know how I'd react if by some miraculous turn of events he were to approach me. No, I know how I'd react. I'd die. After I fainted. I'd faint and then die. I just wish I had the strength to tell him how I feel. I feel so damned weak for not being able to act on my desires. Sometimes I really hate myself for not being able to just tell him.  
  
Four simple words. Why is it so hard to speak them to his face? I don't think he'd ridicule me for it, but I'm so afraid that he wouldn't feel the same way about me. Better to love him from afar and keep the fantasy in my head of what we could be, rather than the reality that isn't. But I wish I could say it.  
  
"I love you, Chris."  
  
II. Jericho  
  
// Eyes I dare not meet in dreams \\  
  
Ego meets ego. What happens? The cocky little rock star loses all his nerve. He does it on purpose. I know he does. It's how he operates. His main goal is to keep me off balance, keep me on my toes. I don't mind, because it means more contact with him. But there's just something about how he stares at me, looking down that famous nose at me that makes me more aware than ever of our size difference. Making damn sure I know that I'll never be part of his inner circle.  
  
That sanctimonious son of a bitch. Why does he have to make it so hard? All I want to do is be somebody to him, rather than an obnoxious little puppy that follows him around everywhere. He's all I want, and he's about the only thing I can't have. So fucking aggravating. I'd love to just get him off in a dark room and kick the shit out of him, but I know I wouldn't win. He never fights fair. Maybe he learned a little too well from Ric. I don't know. I just know I'd come out the loser.  
  
Hell, I'm already the loser because I don't have him. I don't even give a shit about his stupid title belt that he's held for far too long already. Sure, it would've been nice to win it from him, but that doesn't even matter to me. All I want is for him to prove that he can actually be faithful to someone for more than a few weeks at a time. He's always got his sights set on his next conquest, from what I hear, even when he's actually with someone at the time.  
  
"Make me your conquest, Hunter."  
  
III. Hunter  
  
// Form prayers to broken stone \\  
  
A man can never have too many notches on his bedpost. I've always believed that. Most days I don't even give a fuck what the gender is. If I want someone, I eventually get them, no matter what it costs them. And believe me, everyone pays in some way for that privilege. I really AM the whore everyone accuses me of being. And you know what's so great about it? Seeing the rapture in some new person's eyes at finally getting the chance to fuck the most sought-after man on the roster. Of course I know that they'll probably never get the chance to do it again. It's gotta be someone pretty fucking special for me to invite them back for seconds.  
  
And the last fucking person I need to think about right now is that man. He's really the only one I've ever not wanted to leave after all the horizontal festivities were over with. I would have gladly stayed with him, but the surly bastard left me first. Excuse me, but I find that more than a little offensive. I'm supposed to be the one doing the leaving, not my partner du jour. I'm the one who calls the shots, directs the show, and determines the outcome.  
  
He thinks it's all some big contest, that I'm lording it over him that he can't fucking wrestle anymore. I don't even give a shit about that. I'm not interested in him because of what he can do in the ring. It's the way he is when we're out of the spotlight that makes me look forward to work every night. He's intelligent, he's fucking sexy as hell in those tight shorts, and he can always make me laugh, even when I'm so pissed off I'm wrecking the locker room yet again. It's just not fair.  
  
"Come back to me, Steve."  
  
IV. Steve  
  
// In this valley of dying stars \\  
  
Such a good lookin' kid. Sensitive, courteous, a real gentleman in a business full of assholes. I dunno if there's even a chance of somethin' happening with us, but I sure as shit want there to be. Part of me's a little leery since he's the boss' son and all, but maybe we can get past that. Of course, we'd hafta actually have a real conversation for that to happen, right? I'm always walkin' on eggshells around him, afraid I'll come on too strong, scare the boy off, some shit like that.  
  
He really is somethin' special, that one. I think I'm the invisible man whenever he's around, though. Don't say more'n two words to me, and it's always about business. I just wish I could have a real sit-down talk with him. Find out what kinda music he listens to, if he likes to fish, if he knows how to ride a horse. Just simple stuff, really. But I'd have to have the balls to actually go up to him. No way in hell he's gonna come to me first. I know he's got no damn clue how I feel, and I feel like the world's biggest ass for not bein' able to make the first move.  
  
He's comin' around a lot more now that he's back on the air. Maybe that'll give me the chance I been waitin' for. I sure as hell can't ask someone to talk to him for me. A man's gotta have some dignity. But I don't know how long I can go on waitin' to get my damned nerve up to talk to the guy. I see him and I just freeze, like a deer in headlights. I can't put two words together and by the time I come up with somethin' to say that don't sound totally lame, he's already gone. And I still ain't asked him.  
  
"Wanna grab a beer, Shane?"  
  
V. Shane  
  
// Between the emotion and the response \\  
  
Steve is seriously starting to creep me out. He's always watching me, staring at me, but not saying a word. Did he maybe find out how I feel about Chris? Is he just waiting for the chance to use it against me? I don't trust him. I always get the feeling he's got something up his sleeve, some smart-alecky comment cleverly designed to hurt my feelings. Not that he's ever really done anything like that before, but that's just the impression I get from him. And my instincts are usually pretty good.  
  
Maybe I can talk to Hunter about this. He knows Steve better than anyone else, from what I hear. Maybe I can get him to find out what the hell Steve's problem is. I'd hate to have to pull strings with Pops to have him fired or transferred, but if he doesn't lay off with the staring thing, I'm going to have to do something. I don't feel comfortable talking to him about it, but that's what your friends are for, right? To run interference when you don't feel like you can do it yourself.  
  
God, I just need to stop thinking about this. I'll focus on Chris. He's due to hit the ring any minute now, and I don't want to miss it. Maybe after the show tonight I can finally work up the courage to talk to him. Then again, I'll probably do what I always do and pat his shoulder lamely as he strolls past me, tell him 'good show,' and then he'll leave to hang out with his friends. I feel so pathetic, but what else can I do?  
  
VI. Hollow Men  
  
// We are the hollow men  
  
We are the stuffed men  
  
Leaning together  
  
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!  
  
Our dried voices, when  
  
We whisper together  
  
Are quiet and meaningless  
  
As wind in dry grass  
  
Or rats' feet over broken glass  
  
In our dry cellar  
  
This is the way the world ends  
  
Not with a bang but a whimper. \\ 


End file.
